


Awake and Ask

by FreudianSlaps



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Animal Death, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, but it’s a monster not like a cat, monster hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25563658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreudianSlaps/pseuds/FreudianSlaps
Summary: Lambert hunts a mated pair of cockatrices after parting ways with Aiden.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 61





	Awake and Ask

In the hot summer sun the remains of the front half of a cow carcass buzzed with flies at the entrance to the cave system where the bloody trail had ended. Lambert’s nose twitched in disgust at the unfortunately familiar smell of rot and death as he stepped past the remains. The cave was dead silent, save for the distant skitter of bats and the rare drop of water from the stalactites above. If this was his quarry’s lair, it was currently unoccupied. As he came into an open chamber, his golden eyes scanned the darkness. In the far corner, stinking of monster shit and spoiled meat, there were the beginnings of a nest. A heap of plant fiber and trash was arranged in a crude ring, and nestled in it’s center was a single, speckled, olive green egg roughly the size of a man’s head.This comparison was relatively easy to make, considering the remains of some unfortunate farmer laid not a foot away.

At the sight of the egg, Lambert shook his head and hissed a curse. A cockatrice clutch was typically three eggs, sometimes four and rarely only two. A single egg meant that there was a mated pair in the midst of laying. This meant there were two beasts active still; double the threat to himself and to the pissant village that had hired him. It was going to be twice the work for the same paltry pay. At least the female would be gravid and slow.

The parents likely weren’t far off, but they weren’t going to return with him present; not without bait. In the meantime, he could afford to brew more draconid oil and see to replenishing his potion stocks. He mentally went through his alchemical inventory as he made his way out of the cave and back to his horse, counting off what he knew he had and what he needed to forage or buy in town.

He was halfway back to his camp when he remembered he was out of white gull.

* * *

“Did you just finish off my last bottle? You ass,” Lambert asked with a laugh, reaching the short distance to gently punch the other witcher’s shoulder. Barely slighter than Lambert, Aiden was close to clean shaven with longish dark hair. A thin scar ran diagonally across his nose bridge, but it did nothing to distract from his strong features. Were it not for his eyes, he had little else that marked him as a mutant.

“Hmm, maybe. Did you brew that yourself? It sure tasted like it. Far too heavy on the cherry cordial,” the other man quipped as he dodged another playful attack. They were celebrating a job well done and even better paid. Even split between them, the reward for clearing out the kikimora nest had been generous. Payouts typically were when Aiden was the one negotiating them.

“Mustn’t have been too heavy,” Lambert snorts, snatching his bottle back to check it’s heft to gauge if it was truly drained. With a flat, unimpressed expression, he turned the bottle upside down over the dirt. As nary a drop came forth, Aiden burst into another fit of laughter, “What, this is funny to you?” 

“Immensely, my dear wolf,” Aiden responded as his laughter died down, leaving a wide grin in its place. His golden gaze lingered on Lambert, even as the witcher rolled his eyes and looked pointedly away, “I’ll replace your precious liquor in time. You know I’m good for it.”

“Good for nothing, more like,” Lambert groused, though a smile twitched at the corners of his lips. He set his empty bottle beside the others, and then leaned back onto his hands, staring up at the star speckled night sky. He was comfortably buzzed, and it left a warmth in his gut and over his face. It was just as well that they were out of witcher liquor, anything more of that potency and they would be seeing pink shaelmaar. When he turned back towards his companion, he caught his eyes with his own. Aiden’s grin had simmered down into something warm.

Aiden didn’t need to be nearly so close for Lambert to catch his scent, but with barely more than a foot between them it was unavoidable. There was road dirt, traces of kikimora hemolymph, sword oil and the shared alcohol, but beneath all of that was something richer and unplaceable. Lambert felt his mouth go dry, and he subconsciously wet his lips. Bright, dilated eyes traced the brief slide of his tongue before they rose to hold his gaze once more.

The summer insects continued to cry into the night, and their small fire was now little more than glowing embers. The nearly full moon above was light enough.

Aiden glanced down to his where his hand rested on his own lap. He moved slowly, bringing his touch to Lambert’s thigh. Where his fingers rested, Lambert’s skin burned. He took a slow, deep breath, and watched as Aiden leaned ever slightly towards him, then spoke in a low, soft tone, “May I kiss you?”

Lambert felt his heartbeat grow from the sluggish pulses of a witcher at rest into something almost human. Heat spread over his face, and for once he was stricken speechless. Dark, dilated eyes stared back at Aiden incredulously as Lambert floundered. He expected the other witcher to laugh, to pat him on the shoulder and shake his head at his gullibility, but no such thing came to pass. 

This was tender. This was soft. This was not the sort of thing witchers were made for. 

He had not let himself imagine tenderness, but he had _imagined_. He had wondered how Aiden’s scars would feel under his calloused hands. He had dreamed about the burn of his stubble against his neck and thighs. He had expected it to be rushed, desperate, to be filling base needs with no further consideration and a plausible deniability of intimacy.

Lambert looked away. Aiden made him feel seen, vulnerable. It thrilled and scared him in equal measure. He stared into the darkness of the forest beyond their campsite. He could hear the other witcher’s soft heartbeat. He could smell his sweat, his desire, his hope.

He didn’t know how to answer him. He didn’t know how to say yes.

He had been quiet for too long. The hand on his leg slowly withdrew, and when he turned back to his companion, Aiden was staring into the dying embers of their fire.

“I think… I think it is time I turn in. The Path calls tomorrow,” Aiden said quietly. His tone was unreadable, but when he turned back to Lambert he offered him a reassuring, if melancholy smile.

“Aiden-”

“You owe me nothing, Lambert,” he interrupted, shaking his head as he pushed himself up from the ground, “You’re a dear friend. That’s enough.”

They didn’t speak anymore that night. Aiden settled onto his bedroll in silence to lay with his back towards Lambert. It was a sign of trust, but still it left his stomach in knots. For a few hours he watched Aiden sleep, listening to the distant, steady, slow beat of his heart.

The next morning, they packed up camp as they always had. They made light, casual conversation, complained about their lingering headaches, but nothing more was said. They embraced like brothers in arms, then either witcher climbed atop their mount.

“Try to stay out of trouble, cat.”

“Come now, Lambert, you know me better than that.”

* * *

The female had been slower, as predicted. She had been the first to take the bait he had laid out in their lair. He waited behind a rock formation as she languidly stepped into the main chamber of the cave, her head rising and cocking as she scented the air. Fresh goat entrails and buckthorn were almost irresistible to these beasts. With a delighted shriek, the beast quickly approached the smeared bait and began to peck and claw at the mess. Lambert silently unsheathed his blade and circled behind her. She lifted her head to swallow a length of intestine and he took the opportunity to strike at her back.

She shrieked as her blood spilled and her tail lashed out at him. Lambert narrowly avoided it by rolling out of range, and as she lunged at him he quickly cast Aard, sending her flying backwards. He had sliced deep into the meat of her side. The beast limped and cried out, before it scratched at the ground. It gave little other warning before lunging at the witcher with its claws spread and it’s wings wide. Another roll to the side got him out of range, but he moved in quickly once more to lay another blow. He sliced across her back, once, twice. The silver bit into her spine with sharp efficiency. She screamed in pain and collapsed forward. As she pulled herself forward with her claws, her legs dragged uselessly behind her.

The killing blow was a mercy.

With the beast still, he nudged her onto her side to look her over. She was young. This must have been her first clutch. After sheathing his sword, he glanced around the cave. He kept his ears piqued for the slightest sound. The male had yet to make himself known, but he wagered he had time enough to rend his trophy from her body. Removing his knife from his waist, he dropped onto one knee and methodically sliced through the cockatrice’s neck, until it’s head was free. Her blood seeped onto the cave floor, and his nose twitched. If his bait hadn’t attracted the male, the stench of blood surely would.

He wiped his blade on the beast’s coat, then tucked it away. The distant scrape of claws on stone caught his attention. As he turned towards the north entrance, he caught the unmistakable stench of a breeding male. 

This was no juvenile. 

The second cocatrice was easily twice the size of the female. The prominent coxcomb atop it’s head was scarred and dark, and it’s beak was chipped. It rose up on its legs and spread its wings. Shrieking, its pendulous wattles quivered as it crowed it’s rage. 

Its size belied its speed. Propelling itself forward with a flap of its wings, it lunged for Lambert. Narrowly, the witcher rolled to avoid the attack, and quickly drew his sword for retaliation. The monster turned on a crown and slashed downwards, though it’s claws only hit the sharp edge of Lambert’s silver blade. A blast of Aard sent it reeling back, but it managed to keep its footing by bracing itself against the rough stone floor. It recovered quickly, much more so than Lambert expected. It flies at him and hits him with a bruising force. It lept and kicked him square in the chest, it’s sharp talons sliced parallel cuts into his gambeson.

Lambert stumbled back with an expletive. He turned his head spat blood onto the ground as he readied his sword, throwing forward another burst of force before following it with a direct attack. Pain throbbed dully in his chest, and each breath made fresh hurt bloom. Had a human taken that direct hit, his rib cage would have been completely crushed.

The cockatrice stumbled backwards and Lambert took his chance to thrust with his blade as the beast screeched and thrust forward again, slamming into Lambert’s body with its beak open. It clamped down on his shoulder, and there was a sickening crunch. Fresh pain blossomed along his clavicle, and he felt his arm fall limp at his side before the monster flung him to the side. The wind was knocked out of him when his back hit the cave wall. It was difficult to take another breath, and he wasted precious seconds gasping for air. He had the seconds to spare, however, as his last thrust had struck true. Blood poured from a fresh wound on the cockatrice’s chest, and it limped. Crowing in pain, it took a few unsteady, desperate steps before it collapsed onto the ground. 

“Fucking finally,” Lambert croaked, then regretted, as he started to push himself up. His left arm was useless. While not entirely motionless, the pain that welled every time he tried to move it nearly took what little breath Lambert had away. Each breath hurt, and felt less satisfying than the last. Even pushing through the pain, he couldn’t seem to fill his lungs, no matter how deeply he tried to inhale. 

Giving up on rising for the moment, he leaned back against the rough stone wall and stared across the cave and over the mated pair he had taken down. He let something like pride twinge in him for a moment, before he coughed and spat fresh blood to his side.

His horse, with his saddle bags full of potions and poultices, was just outside the cave. For all the good that did him, he might as well have been in Toussaint. His next breath came with more difficulty. 

He was tired. 

He knew better than to let himself fall asleep, but even with the hurt that throbbed in his chest he could feel himself drifting. He had been hurt, and worse than this, before. He just needed a few hours for his body to heal. When he could breathe, when he could move, he could drag himself to his gelding and take a dose or three of swallow and he would be fine to limb back to the village, with both cockatrice heads, to renegotiate his pay. 

This job wouldn’t have been half as difficult with another pair of swords.

He lets his mind wander as he struggled to stay awake. Calloused hands, a wry smile, and suppressed disappointment. He had been so close, and Lambert had let the moment slip through his fingertips. 

Time passed slowly as Lambert felt himself fall in and out of a light doze. Sometimes, he could breathe. He could feel himself healing. Other times, he would inhale, only to cough and spit up fresh blood. His vision was darkening around the edges. Blinking kept him awake, but each time he closed his eyes, they lingered shut. 

He heard footsteps distantly in the cave, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, not yet. They were quiet, careful and trained. He turned his head in their direction, and his vision swam. The blur of a man appeared, and Lambert cursed. He was in no position to defend himself or his kills. Still, he struggled to stand, only to collapse back against the cave wall. 

There was something familiar about how the blur moved as it sheathed the sword it had held and approached. The last thing Lambert heard was a known voice calling his name incredulously.

* * *

When Lambert woke up, he still hurt. It was just a dull ache now and the first breath he took was deep and fulfilling. There was a soft straw mattress beneath him, and when he moved he could hear the creak of a wooden bed frame. The room smelled like linens and candle smoke, and not far away he could scent ale and vomit.

Closer than that was something richer and unplaceable. 

Slowly, he opened his eyes, and for a moment he just watched Aiden. The other witcher was grinding something in a mortar; celandine, from the smell. He worked methodically with the tip of his tongue peaking out between his lips. 

“How many vials of swallow do you think I need?” Lambert croaked as he sat up. Aiden was too observant to be startled, but there was relief in his eyes as he turned towards him.

“Oh, feeling better already are we?” Aiden asked, but with no real venom, a half smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

“So how the fuck did you find me? Following my Path just to poach contracts?”

“I wasn’t looking for you,” Aiden countered with a good natured roll of his eyes, “I took a contract on the very same beasts from another alderman. Their range was rather expansive.”

“Did you get both bounties?” Lambert asked with his brow cocked. 

Aiden gestured to the small attic room around them,”How else do you think I could afford such luxury?” With a grin he set aside his alchemy and got up from the worn chair he had been sitting in to approach where Lambert still rested, “You’ll forgive me for taking some liberties. ” 

Lambert looked down at his own bare chest for the first time, noticing the bandages that were pressed against him. They stunk of herbal salve, and when he reached to peel one back, Aiden batted his hand away. 

“You should leave that until morning,” Aiden chided, “You’re healed, sure, but the salve will spare you a new triplet of scars.”

“How long was I out?” Lambert asked as Aiden moved back to the room’s table, mixing the ground flowers with a strong smelling spirit and a pink, fleshy mass. With a quick igni sign, the small fireplace was lit and the mixture was set over the flames to stew. 

“The better part of the afternoon. You were in and out,” Aiden explained, turning back to Lambert and crossing his arms over his chest. 

Lambert grunted in acknowledgement and looked away, noting where his equipment rested in the corner of the room. He glanced around their humble surroundings, and in the other corner of the room he noticed a pile of blankets. Putting the dots together, he scowled and pushed himself over to one side of the bed, scowling directly at the other witcher, “Don’t tell me your self-sacrificing ass was going to sleep on the floor, cat.”

Aiden blinked and quirked a single brow as he tilted his head inquisitively, “You’re hurt… and I didn’t want to make you… uncomfortable.”

Lambert scowled for another minute, partly in confusion, before he realized what Aiden was referring to. With a huff he looked away and crossed his own arms before scooting further from the center of the lone bed. 

“Aiden, you saved my fucking ass. You’re not sleeping on the floor.”

“If you insist,” Aiden didn’t argue, returning to check his alchemy. Seemingly satisfied with its transformation, he finished tending to his distillate until he had a vial of scarlet liquid. Lambert had watched him work with quiet interest. Though he had learned similar techniques and recipes in his own school, he was fascinated by the subtle differences in either of their techniques. When Aiden approached and offered him the dose, Lambert only grumbled out of obligation before downing it. 

The lingering pain Lambert felt nearly vanished. Before he could stop himself he sighed contentedly, and then caught Aiden’s self satisfied grin. He forced his own smile down immediately, and looked away from the other witcher. He sank back down onto the mattress and rolled onto his side, not that he could lay that way painlessly. He could still hear Aiden as he packed his things and undressed. After another moment’s pause, he felt his weight sink the other side of the bed, and as he felt him stretch out on his half, Lambert released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. 

Aiden extinguished the candles with a snap, then settled down with his back towards Lambert. For a moment there was just silence between them, as either waited for sleep to come. 

“Hey,” Lambert murmured into the darkness. It wasn’t so dark that he couldn’t see, but the lower light made him bolder, “Aiden.”

“Hmn?” The other witcher hummed, having been close to sleep.

“About the other night. Last week.”

Aiden went completely still. 

“Like I said. You owe me nothing-“

“Yea. I know. I. Well,” Lambert sighed and shifted to his back as he laid, “I wanted to. To say yes. I just. I’m not used to… it being like this. To wanting… that.”

Aiden didn’t respond immediately, and Lambert rolled to face the other witcher, “Hey. Look at me.”

Slowly, Aiden turned in place until he mirrored Lambert. In the dark, his eyes were dilated and questioning. Lambert could hear his slow, stable heartbeat, and he could smell his anticipation. He still didn’t know how to be soft, how to be vulnerable, but he knew what he wanted. He met his eyes steadily and swallowed down a mouthful of hesitation.

“Can I?” He asked, his vernacular unrefined but to the point. He reached across the mattress to rest his hand on Aiden’s side. His fingertips burned where he touched him. Even through his simple linen shirt, he felt warm and strong. 

“I’m going to make you say it, dear wolf,” Aiden replied with a sly, pleased smile. 

“Oh, fuck you,” Lambert laughed softly as he squeezed him gently, “Now I don’t think I want to…”

“Well, if that is the case…” Aiden trailed off, moving his hand to Lambert’s wrist, as if to pull his hand off of himself. 

“Can I kiss you? Even if you are an ass?” Lambert managed finally, gently tugging Aiden towards himself. With a quiet nod, the other witcher allowed himself to be eased forward, until they could taste each other’s breath. 

It was slow, and softer than anything Lambert had ever had before. Gradually his lips parted, and Lambert felt the wetness of his mouth against his own. With a low, quiet groan, Aiden reached up to run his fingers through Lambert’s hair. A twist of pleasure knotted in his gut, and his restraint failed. The hand he had on Aiden’s side slid to his back, and he pulled him forward so that they were flush from sternum to thigh. His tongue swiped over Aiden’s lips, and he met no resistance as he pushed to taste his mouth. Aiden was like good ale and warmth, rich on his tongue, 

Lambert unashamedly groaned low as. Aiden’s fingernails scraped over his scalp. He sucked against his tongue encouragingly in response, only to quietly gasp as Lambert rolled the two of them together. Lambert pushed his knee between Aiden’s own, and for a moment, he just stared down at the other witcher. His eyes were golden rings around dark, deep pupils, his face was just flushed, and his lips were kiss bitten. Something in his chest twisted almost painfully. 

Aiden smiled up at him as he placed a hand on his shoulder, “You should rest. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?” Lambert asked before he could stop himself. He sounded juvenile and vulnerable all together, and he hid his embarrassment by dipping down to press his face to Aiden’s neck. Aiden’s fingers combed through his hair and smoothed down his nape. This close, every breath was tinged with his sweat, his skin, his warmth. He settled against him, careful to lie with most of his weight on the mattress. 

Aiden chuckled quietly and hummed before softly replying, “I promise. Where else would I go?”


End file.
